And that’s it. We fall apart at this.
Saz sings out, “To va-va-voom in the bedroom!” The four of us clink cans and bottles.
And then we forget all about artificial hymens and virginity and stare as Kristin McNish walks through the cafeteria like a perfectly timed public-service announcement, with her chin jutting out and an unmistakable bump around her middle.
* * *
—
At home, I dig through the laundry pile, but the Nirvana shirt is still nowhere to be found. I find a black minidress lying on my floor and settle for my dad’s Ramones shirt, which I throw on over it. For dinner, Mom and I order from Pizza King because Dad has a work thing and he’s the cook in the family, his specialty being elaborate meals paired with theme music and wine. Saz loves eating at my house because it’s almost always an event, but I love eating at hers. The Bakshis eat at the bar in the kitchen or in front of the TV—takeout, fast food, or Kraft macaroni and cheese, best thing on earth, something I never get at home unless I make it myself. My dad refuses to cook any food that requires you to add orange powder to it.
When I open the door to the delivery boy now, the one Saz calls Mean Jake, even though his name is Matthew and he isn’t mean at all, I’m like, “Well, hey, you,” as seductively as possible.
He goes, “We were out of ginger ale, so I brought you Sprite instead.”
* * *
—
Later that night, I lie in Trent Dugan’s hayloft, underneath Shane Waller, my senses in overdrive, lost in the heat of his skin and the smell of his neck. I’m thinking, Maybe this will be it. Maybe I’ll lose it right here, right now.
It’s what I love about making out with someone. The possibility that this could be the one. Cue the lights. Cue the music. Love raining down on us all. Not that I’m all that experienced, especially compared to Alannis. I’ve officially given a few hand jobs and three or four unsuccessful blow jobs, had five and a half orgasms—not including the ones I’ve given myself—and made out with three boys, counting this one.
Shane is kissing me, and his hands are everywhere—Oh yeah, I think, there. That’s good. The kissing is strictly for my benefit because Shane, like a lot of other guys at Mary Grove High, is more about all the things that aren’t kissing. His goal, always, is to get in my pants. I know this and he knows this, and he will kiss me for a while just to get there. And I’ll let him because he’s actually good at it, and hey, I love kissing.
And then all he’s doing is grabbing me, but it’s working because he’s so obviously into me that I’m starting to feel a bit into me too.
I think, Don’t let it get too far, even as I’m helping him unzip his jeans. And then we’re kissing again, harder and harder until I half expect him to inhale my tongue and my mouth and my entire face, and in the moment I want him to because of the way my body is pressing into his, wanting to feel more. I feel swept away and powerful at the same time. What are you waiting for?
Shane has his tongue in my ear, but I can still hear the music outside. Laughter. Someone yelling something. At first I’m like, Oh God, yes, but then his tongue is a little too wet and he’s giving me swimmer’s ear. I want to push him away and shake the saliva out, but then he says, “God, you’re so hot.”
Being hot is not what I’m known for, so I kiss him a while longer. But then I can’t get over the fact that we’re making out in a barn. At first I think, Okay, this is kind of sexy and Oh, look at me, but now I’m not sure I believe it. I imagine losing it to Shane Waller here in this hayloft, but of all the ways I’ve pictured my first time, it’s never once been in a barn.
Then he gives my underwear a tug, chasing the thoughts away. Leaving just Shane and me, nearly naked on top of all this straw, which is jabbing into my flesh like sharp little pencils. It’s funny that I haven’t really noticed the straw before this moment because I’ve been so swept up in